I Worry Because I Care
by theoneshotter
Summary: What's this? Another Wall story? You bet! Ludwig thinks he's just talking to himself by the Wall, when another, very familiar voice answers. Each chapter is a new conversation. Sucky summary is sucky. Brotherly PrussiaxGermany. Non-yaoi. Some cursing, may get disturbing, but probably just hints at it.
1. Something's Not Quite Right

Ludwig rested his head against the wall. The cold stone burned. He felt torn in half, which, considering the circumstances, he was. His big brother was on the other side of this wall, probably being bad-touched by Russia. All the awesomeness in the world couldn't save him now.

So what was West Germany doing here, trying to push his way through the wall? He couldn't tell you. All he knew was that he felt like he had centuries ago. He had been a scared little boy, emerging from the ruins of the Holy Roman Empire, completely alone in the world.

A devil with red eyes had lifted him into his arms, cooing to him in a foreign language. The devil, the Kingdom of Prussia, had then raised him as his little brother.

February 25, 1947. The Allied Forces killed Prussia. They said that his culture was intolerant and war-like. They blamed him for Hitler. Ludwig couldn't believe how. Prussia loved war, yes, but he was nothing they claimed him to be. He wasn't a killing machine intent on crushing freedom. Far from it. Gilbert Beilschmidt was hardly cuddly, but he was a good listener. He loved books, and made it a point to learn everything he could.

August 13, 1961. Prussia's new communist boss began to build a wall. This damned wall. According to him, West Germany was still under the influence of Nazism. Ludwig had the sneaking suspicion that Russia was behind this. Prussia was given a new name, the German Democratic Republic. East Germany.

So this was how it was going to be. East vs. West. Brother against brother. Ludwig firmly believed Russia wanted this to actually erupt into a war. Russia was never happier than when starting fights.

"Bruder, if you can hear me, come back!" Ludwig knew the cry was useless. No one would hear him, except probably some guards. They would shoot at him, and he would have to run before they realized the bullets didn't harm him.

"_Luddy_?" The voice was faint. Ludwig believed that he had imagined it. "_Little brother? Can you hear the sound of my awesomeness?" _The laugh that followed was definitely Gilbert's. Ludwig felt his heart stop. If this was his imagination playing tricks on him, he was just going to humor it. What was the harm?

"Hey Gilbert. I'm here. Are you?"

"_Kesesese, I'm here. I'm probably talking to myself, but at least I can pretend it's you!" _Ludwig smiled. Brothers think alike.

"Well, I'm talking to myself too. That makes us both crazy." He strained his ears to hear footsteps on the other side. Hearing only silence, he slid into the snow, resting his back against the rough cement of the wall.

"_I'm not crazy. I'm awesome. I know you're not real. If you were real, I would hear footsteps. This icy snow is loud." _Ludwig heard the faint sound of fabric rubbing against cement.

"I stopped walking to see if I could hear you. How's Russia?" Ludwig waited with bated breath for the answer that probably wouldn't come. His brain couldn't supply him with new information, right? _My Imaginary Gilbert will probably say something like "not awesome" or "Russia is a sociopathic creeper," _he reasoned.

"_Pretty good_."

He was entirely unprepared for _that _answer.

"Gilbert?"

"_Yeah?_"

"Are you really there?" Russia? Pretty good? Ludwig was kept awake at night by thoughts involving chains, submission, and absolutely no consent. Apparently Imaginary Gilbert thought a life of being Russia's plaything was pretty good.

"_I'm here. I'm going crazy, but I'm here. Hey look! There's a crack!_" Ludwig turned around. Sure enough, there was. If he crouched and squinted, he could see through it. A red eye looked back.

"You're real." Ludwig pinched himself to ensure that this was not a dream.

"Of course I'm real. So are you!" His brother's voice was much louder, and it was much harder to believe that it could only be heard in his head.

"So Russia isn't really that bad?"

"No. His sisters are nice. Well, Natasha's not. She's pretty pissy most of the time. The other one has a really awesome rack." He paused. "Hungary's here."

"Hungary?" Elizaveta was Gilbert's childhood friend. He often spoke of her, and Ludwig suspected that there was, or had been, something more than friendship between them.

"She hates it. She's locked herself in her room. She thinks that Russia's going to rape her, or something. That's why I went for a walk. His house is creepy. It's too quiet. There are actually a lot of people here, but they are all afraid to talk or something unawesome like that."

"And Russia?" What could Russia be doing, holed up in there? Ludwig hoped to God that he wasn't hurting his brother.

"He stays in his office all the time. Toris sometimes brings him tea, and he has Eduard help him with the radio. Other then that, he doesn't do much." Gilbert's stomach growled.

"Was that your stomach?" Ludwig felt fear send goosebumps over his skin. Were they starving him?

"No." Gilbert was stubborn.

"Gilbert, are they feeding you?" Ludwig was very good at keeping his tone neutral, and he used that skill now. He didn't want to hurt Gilbert's pride by making him think he was worrying about him.

"Yes." They weren't.

"You're lying. What are they doing to you?"

"Nothing-"

"GILBERT! Tell me how they are hurting you, or I will climb over this wall and MAKE you tell me!"

"Ludwig! You didn't let me finish." A shaky breath. "They aren't doing anything. That's the problem. There are lots of rules, no leaving the grounds, no talking to anyone who doesn't speak to you first, no bothering Master…" _Master._ The word made Ludwig wince.

"He isn't your master."

"Yes he is. As much as we don't like it, he is. Anyway, the fact that they do nothing is the problem. He doesn't feed us, and I haven't been able to find the kitchens. Yekaterina, that's his nice sister, sometimes brings me food, but I feel bad taking it from her. I think she has a garden somewhere. This place is huge."

"I would imagine so. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. We don't have to eat to survive, remember? Us nations are too awesome for that." Ludwig was happier than he had been in a long while. His brother was all right. Hungry and lonely, but all right. Ludwig had a feeling that he would sleep better than he had in ages after talking to Gilbert. He had missed him.

"I have to go now, I'm not sure I'm supposed to be out here."

"Okay. Can you meet me here tomorrow?"

"Sure. How about five, before you leave for work?" Five? In the morning? Gilbert loved to sleep late. He must really want to see him. Or hear his voice, anyway.

"We can meet later than that. I'll make time."

"It's fine. Auf Weidersehen!" Gilbert's crunchy footfalls faded into the night, and Ludwig suddenly felt very cold. The sun had long since set, and the faint orange glow of the streetlamps barely reached him.

He got wearily to his feet, knees creaking like an old man's. He'd much prefer it if Gilbert were at home, on Ludwig's couch, guzzling beer and watching football. He would give anything in the world for his big brother to come home.

"At least he's alive,"he muttered, his warm breath becoming visible in the cold night air.

He should be grateful that Russia hadn't killed his brother already. Could he be killed? Gilbert technically wasn't a nation anymore, so did that make him mortal? Gilbert _had_ been acting strangely. Was he hiding something from him?

* * *

The door shut behind him with a bang. Gilbert stood, shivering, in the foyer. Stone walls rose up around him, emitting cold. A red carpet, meant to bring a homey atmosphere, stretched out to him, running down the hall like fresh blood.

At the end of the hall, a tall figure stood. Another figure knelt at his feet, her long brown hair hiding her face from view. Her arm was held above her head at an unnatural angle, a gloved hand crushing the thin wrist in its grasp.

"Good of you to join us, Gilbert. Miss Elizaveta was just going to find you. I had to stop her, of course. Please come into my office. I need to speak with you both about following the rules."

Russia lifted his head, his face coming out of shadow. His violet eyes glimmered with a strange, cruel light. He smiled, revealing glistening white fangs. He let go of Elizaveta, and she crumbled to the floor.


	2. Higher You Climb, Harder You Fall

East Germany limped over to the wall. He knew without looking at a watch that he was very late. The sun shone bright and cold, hovering directly overhead.

"Must be around noon, then." He muttered to himself. He had told Ludwig he would meet him before he left for work. How many hours ago would that be? Gilbert didn't bother to count. He just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, his vision still slightly blurry.

He reached the cold cement barrier and collapsed against it. He cleared his throat and was about to call out to Ludwig, hoping against all odds that he was here, when his brother beat him to it.

"Gilbert!" He raised his head wearily to the small crack. An impossibly blue, very worried eye was glaring at him. "Gilbert, I can't see you." Good. He didn't want to be seen.

"Hello to you too." He didn't bother to keep the bite out of his voice. What the hell was he still doing here? He was probably on his way to turning into a Ludwig-sickle and freezing to death. That would be really un-awesome.

"Gilbert, is everything all right?" Ugh. Stupid worrying little brother. For someone who couldn't see that his best (and only) friend was in love with him, he was pretty observant.

"Ja. 'Course it is. Why wouldn't it be?" Maybe he'd get embarrassed and start talking about the weather. Gilbert licked his split lip. Nope. Ludwig could _not _see him right now.

"I don't know, maybe because you're currently_ under the control of Russia_?" Jesus, where had his sweet little brother picked up that sarcasm?

"He's…he's not as bad as people think he is." _Ach, _his jaw hurt…

"Okay then. Anything new?" Ludwig obviously didn't believe him, but he wasn't pressing the point. Gilbert blew a sigh of relief, his breath making a little cloud in front of him. Which reminded him…

"Hey Luddy?"

"Hmm?"

"You know how I told you I was fine?" He heard Ludwig shift on the other side of the wall.

"Yeah?" If his brother thought he was going to get a heartfelt confession of the hell his life had become, he was dead wrong.

"Can I have a cigarette?" There was the distinct sound of face connecting with palm.

"I quit." Gilbert pouted. Of course he had. Ludwig was a goody two shoes. Always had been, always would be. _Except when he was starting world wars…_No. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think about that. That was all Hitler, right? Right. He and his little brother weren't exactly _innocent_, but they sure as hell hadn't started anything.

Humans were certainly screwed up creatures. Yes, they were his lifeblood. Without his people, he was nothing. But why did they have to be so cruel to each other? And now that more of them were claiming to be "German" or wishing they lived on Ludwig's side of the wall, Gilbert was growing weaker. He was East Germany, and nobody wanted to be East German. He didn't really blame them.

"I suppose I could bring you some." Ludwig said haltingly.

"Really?" Gilbert wasn't sure if his shiver was one of gladness or of cold.

"They are bad for your health, you know."

"Where'd you get that?" So now his brother was a health-nut?

"They make you cough terribly, and there are studies now saying that they can really hurt your lungs. Permanently. They might be connected to cancer."

"That's ridiculous! Bruder, you know I'm still immortal, right? Nothing can hurt this awesomeness." He hoped, anyway. He had hardly been able to drag himself out of bed that morning. In the past, his wounds had healed in a matter of hours. Now, they wouldn't go away. They seemed to be getting _worse_.

"Gilbert, you sound a little hoarse. Are you getting sick?" Gilbert rolled his eyes. _No, I just got dragged down the hall by a collar around my neck, thanks to that psycho-nation's screwed up ideas of "teaching."_

His little brother didn't need to know that, no matter how much Gilbert wanted him to. Ludwig was happy thinking that Gilbert was fine, no matter how much he doubted it. His little brother was in the process of convincing himself that all was well, and Gilbert was doing his best to help him. No insane Russians were going to get in the way of Ludwig's happiness. What good would it do? It wasn't like his little brother could come save him.

"I'm fine." He muffled a cough. _Gott,_ this weather was starting to get to him. He could feel the snow seeping through his pants and the rough surface of the wall digging into his sore back. Did any part of him _not_ hurt?

"Don't push yourself, you should probably go back where it's warm." _And where would that be, dear brother? In Soviet Russia, heating is for the weak. _Gilbert was growing tired of Ludwig's parental worrying. HE was the older brother, dammit!

"Okay. Well, bye." He stood, and grabbed the wall for support. His teeth chattered alarmingly.

"Take care of yourself."

"I will," Gilbert said through clenched teeth. _By God, I'll try. _

In the old days of empires, rulers listened to their countries. They were high officials, leaders of armies, and always, _always_ their leader's right-hand-man. Heck, even the _girl _countries were respected, and that was saying a lot. All that had changed.

Leaders regarded their countries with a mixture of wariness and power-

hungry greed. They were just something else to be controlled. Presidential candidates tried to get close to them to get the country on their side. They were no more useful than a weird caricature of the population.

_How do the people feel about this?_

_Can you sense a terrorist? _

With the constantly changing leaders, most never took the time to learn exactly what their nation was, and how he (or she) worked. Most, especially America's for some reason, assumed they were super heroes.

Gilbert sorely missed his kings. He watched them grow, from cradle to crown, from crown to tomb. Worst-case scenario, they understood and respected each other. Best case? Old Fritz. He had been his teacher, his partner in crime, and his best friend. Frederick the Great had handed him glory on a bloodstained silver plate engraved with Austria's coat of arms. Nothing compared to him.

He trudged back to Russia's house, hands fisted in his pockets. His coat was thin, and didn't much in the way of blocking wind. A slice of cold air around his left-side ribcage when the wind blew let him know that there was a tear of some sort. All he could think, as his stomach complained, his throat burned, and his head throbbed, was "the higher you climb, the harder you fall." Didn't that fit his life perfectly?


	3. When Things Fall Apart

**A/N: WARNING- this chapter deals with the Holocaust.  
This story is really helping me vent. It's a little like writing in a diary. That's a major reason I love writing. Things are falling apart for poor Gil, and the people who could help him are unable to at the moment.**

**Ah, sorry about that. Okay, onward! Longest chapter yet!**

* * *

It had been weeks. Weeks since Ludwig last had contact with his brother. Every time he had come out here, to this spot in the Wall, and called for him, he had not received a reply.

Every day, he was out here. Learning the rugged surface, every rough brick that stood out, each spot of blue-grey liken. He would walk along it, in both directions, looking for another crack. He looked for just one more, maybe a little wider than theirs, so that he could catch a glimpse of East Germany.

So far, all he had was the tiny space between two uneven bricks. It was the one he had leant against that first day, when he thought he was talking to himself. The cement plastering had fallen off on both sides, and the mortar in between was also gone. Six centimeters long and three centimeters wide, he had measured.

But what was the point of a break in the barrier if Gilbert was not on the other side? Ludwig kept thinking about everything he had said, trying to find double meanings in the words.

_I'm fine _was the overwhelming topic of conversation. Gilbert was _not_ fine, obviously. Or maybe he was, and Ludwig was just being an "overprotective younger brother." Gilbert was so difficult.

He kept thinking about how hoarse he had sounded, and he didn't like that Gilbert was sitting in the snow. Healthcare in Soviet-run East Germany could not be very good. Ludwig had no idea what happened to ex-nations when faced with human illness. Did it affect them? He knew that nations sometimes got sick, but it was never serious. If it was a country-related problem however…

"_Ach mein Gott_." Ludwig stopped pacing. He placed both hands on the wall and leaned against it. East Germans had defected at an alarming rate before the wall was complete. Even now, some were risking getting shot to get to the better-off side. _Prussian _was equivalent to _Nazi_.

His brother's own people were killing him. Ludwig stared at the dirty snow without seeing it. Who wanted to be East German? _No one_. Who wanted to call themselves Prussian? _Only his brother_. The glory days of Old Fritz were long gone, and their memory was tainted by Hitler's fascination with them. His brother was _fading. _

"Ludwig?" The voice was impossibly weak, almost carried away by the wind. Ludwig sank to his knees.

"Gilbert?"

"_Hallo_. What's up?" Gilbert muffled a cough. Ludwig's chest tightened with worry.

"Where have you been?" He didn't mean the words to sound so harsh, so mean. Gilbert was quiet. "I'm sorry, I'm just stressed. Are you alright?"

"Quit asking!" His voice broke, and he coughed again, harder. Ludwig leaned forward, forehead pressed against the rough wall. Cold air blew through the small crack, biting his cheeks. Why was it so much colder over there?

"I'm sorry," he said again. It was now February, and this wall had been put up in August. Already, it was falling apart. It seemed like the even the land didn't want it there. Cement flakes littered the snow, and the barbed wire on the top was rusting. Ludwig felt loose rocks grating against each other under his touch, but then, he was stronger than the average human.

"How's it going?" Caution laced Ludwig's words. He sounded so much stronger than he had the last time they talked. _He grows stronger while I grow weaker…_Gilbert bit back a sigh. Right now was about Ludwig. He was fine, right? Right. Fake it 'till you make it.

"It's not bad. How're you?"

"Great! Production is picking up, and I've been patching things up with the Allies. There was this new group from England that I went down to Hamburg to see a couple times. I read this morning in the paper that they have signed a contract in England and are planning on going to America! They're quite famous now."

"That's cool." Gilbert was too exhausted to say anything more. Things were going well for Ludwig. It had been so long since he had even _thought _about music.

Ludwig blushed when he realized he'd been babbling. He cleared his throat nervously.

"I have something for you." He reached into his bag and pulled out a box. He had splurged on this, but he knew that his brother would appreciate it. "Do you want me to toss it over?"

"Sure." Ludwig made sure that the string holding the lid down was secure and threw the box like a Frisbee. It flew in an arc over the barbed wire, the light brown cardboard contrasting with the dark grey sky.

He heard a soft _thud _as Gilbert caught it; twine being untied, and then silence.

"A coat?"

"Yes." An_ expensive _coat."Do you like it?" He had bought it last week, on a whim. His boss had warned him against spending too much, as it was the government's job to keep him afloat and they were still rebuilding- pretty much the same lecture he got once a month when the heating bill came in. Ludwig couldn't help that Feliciano blatantly ignored the fact that he wasn't allowed to touch the thermostat.

"It's pretty cool. _Danke_."

"_Bitte_. Is it warm enough?" Ludwig had been sure Gilbert would like it. It was truly one of a kind, just like his older brother. It was made of soft black leather. The warm wool lining was Gilbert's favorite shade of yellow.

Gilbert slid the jacket on. His body heat quickly warmed it, and his fingers tingled as the feeling returned to them.

"It's perfect."

"I wasn't sure about your size, since I haven't seen you in a while..." _and I might never again._ The unsaid words lingered between them like the cold wall.

"No, no, it fits fine." The soft leather covered him like a circus tent, flowing in black ripples over his thin frame. He desperately needed some potatoes and wurst, washed down with a huge keg of beer. Snow, beets, and vodka did not build muscles.

"That's good. I also got you some cigarettes, but they are pretty pricey, so go easy on them." Ludwig knew that his brother would probably chain smoke them all in a night, no matter what he said.

"Okay." The familiar longing welled up in Gilbert's chest at the thought of the godly nicotine. There was a sullen silence from the other side. "West? Can you pass them over? Please tell me you brought a ligher." _  
_

"Oh, sorry. Here." A small pack flew over the wall and landed in Gilbert's waiting hands. Two seconds later, it was joined by a lighter.

"You're so generous." Gilbert snapped after counting them. "I'll go through these in day."

"Ration them."

"For fuck's sake, I'm tired of rationing! You of all people should know that." Everything had been rationed for the last twenty-odd years. Gilbert supposed it was God's punishment for trying to take over the world. Too bad Hitler didn't have to live through the aftermath. It was almost worse than the war.

"Gilbert." Oh God, it was the Tone. Not the "you aren't listening so I'm going to kick your ass" tone, it was worse. It was the "you aren't telling me what's wrong and it's hurting my feelings" tone. Ludwig was surprisingly good at it.

Way back in '42, Gilbert had found another side of Hitler's utopia. He was sent on a mission to the work camps to supervise. It was punishment for refusing to "take care" of the family of an official who was causing problems. Gilbert thought it was inhumane, these were his people, after all. When he had not completed the task, his boss had seen to it that not only was the entire family killed, but Gilbert was sent off to learn a lesson.

He had wound up working in a concentration camp in Poland. Felix himself was actually in a Berlin prison. As a supervisor in the camp, Gilbert had witnessed things no one should ever have to see. Even the years of being a kingdom basically created for war paled in comparison. The prisoners' empty eyes haunted him, dark brown pools of despair silently pleading with him. Skinny winter branches became their skeletal hands, reaching up to their god to save them. They cringed away from the gun slung across his back. How could they know he could never bring himself to use it? He knew how to handle a healthy, well-equiped enemy, but this? Children who were too tired to even cry, their parents lined up and shot like animals. These people were his "enemy."

When he came back to the capital, his mission was to hide the existence of such horrible places from his little brother. He had thought it would be easy. Just let him believe that work camps were places to get the Jews out of the way so that they could continue to build a glorious German state. But Ludwig was not stupid, he knew Gilbert was hiding something from him, just like now.

"What?"

"You know I love you, right?" Woah, emotion. Ludwig had always had trouble with the "L" word. Elizaveta would probably say that it ran in the family, he and Roderich weren't exactly romantics either. That's what the Mediterranean countries were for.

"I love you too, little brother. And I'm being completely honest when I say I'm fine."

"Alright, glad to hear it." Ludwig was still hesitant. He could climb over the wall right now, grab Gilbert, and hide him in his basement. It would be so easy, but once Ivan realised he was gone...He had dealt with an angry Russia once, and he wasn't really up for another round. Ivan would probably take out his anger on Gilbert, anyway. A few hours of his brother's freedom wasn't worth the risk of loosing him. "Well, I've got to go finish up some paperwork."

"Bye bye! Thanks for the coat."

"You're welcome." Ludwig touched his forehead to the wall one last time before standing and brushing off snow. He was going to talk to his boss about this attrocity marring his beautiful city. Not that he would listen, but getting the idea of a unified Germany into his head couldn't hurt.


	4. Recapturing a Freedom Fighter

**A/N: Oh my goodness guys, I'm so sorry! I'm two weeks late with my update. This chapter is the Hungarian Revolution. The "Freedom Fighter" was actually the Time magazine's Man of the Year for '63. Unfortunately, the revolution failed. I'm sorry to all the Russia fans out there, I'm really putting him in a bad light in this story. This chappie gets a little more violent. **

**Thank you to all the readers who've reviewed and favorited! You guys are the best. 3**

* * *

"Lizzy?" Gilbert's voice was soft, but still it echoed down the cold hall. His pale hand rested on the cold knob of the large wooden door. It was stubbornly stiff. Elizaveta had locked herself in.

"What is it?" Her voice seemed oddly cheerful. Gilbert rattled the doorknob harder. He _needed _to talk to her. As he was wandering around earlier, Gilbert had heard shouting coming from a corridor. Usually, those corridors were as silent as tombs. He had located the source, a huge red door he recognized as Russia's office.

Russia had been yelling loudly. On the phone, from the sound of it. With his limited (but awesome) Russian skills, Gilbert only understood a fraction of what was being said.

"_No…Hungary…revolution…kill rebel leaders…regain control. __**Fuck!**_" Something was wrong in Hungary. He had to save her, Russia was hurting here he was, in front of her room.

"Are you alright? Please open the door!" Gilbert raised his fist to bang on the door, but it flew open and he toppled inside. Elizaveta caught him by the shoulders and beamed up at him. The smile on her face caught him off guard. She hadn't smiled in _years_.

"The most amazing thing has happened!" She was practically quivering with excitement, and her iron grip was starting to hurt. "My people are free!"

Gilbert knew the ecstasy that came with liberation. Millions of your people, suddenly rejoicing and filled with a love of life, freedom, and new hope, it felt _good. _Countries were known to run amuck with their population. Crashing parties, going on reunion tours with their friends, and for once, the fact that they were a nation was not a secret. After Fritz had freed him from Austria, Gilbert distinctly remembered running through the streets of his capital, hugging people and exclaiming, "I am an AWESOME nation!" He got some strange looks, but they mostly smiled and agreed with him.

Elizaveta let go of his shoulders only to wrap her arms around his torso and tuck her head under his chin.

"Congratulations." Gilbert said, slightly shell-shocked from the contact. No one had touched him in a long, long time, _especially _not Elizaveta. She wriggled like an excited puppy, and he awkwardly put his arms around her. Her joy was contagious. He felt a light blush spread across his cheeks, and he buried his face in her hair to hide it. _It's been much too long, _he thought, and held her tighter, quietly rejoicing with her.

The door opened with a bang. Now Gilbert had seen Russia angry. His smile was sickening, his entire being oozing a strange cocktail of sweet fury. He would dole out his punishments calmly, all with the same fake grin plastered on his face. Maybe it was genuine, maybe he took pleasure in watching others suffer, Gilbert wasn't sure.

All he knew now was that Russia was practically vibrating with hatred. His larger-than-life frame quivered. The temperature dropped in the room as Elizaveta looked over Gilbert's shoulder, still as a corpse in his arms. Russia's purple aura reflected in her eyes, wide as saucers in her moon-white face. His mouth was a hard line, and he looked every bit the feared Soviet Russia. Prussia had never seen him like this.

"Hungary. Come." When she didn't move, Russia lunged for her and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her face to his. Gilbert was shoved out of the way. He tripped over his own feet and landed with a thud on the floor. Russia held Elizaveta in a death grip, one hand tangled in her long hair and the other around her throat. One thumb pressed tightly against her windpipe, cutting off her air.

She turned her head away as much as she could, and shut her eyes. Russia pushed closer, his large, sharp nose pressed against her white cheek.

"No," Elizaveta managed to choke out. Her eyes found Gilbert on the floor, and he could see the fight in them, even as they started to lose focus from lack of oxygen. "_I'm not afraid of you_." The words, the last of her breath, were scarcely out of her mouth when the wrinkle of defiance between her brows relaxed and she lost consciousness.

Russia scooped her into his arms as gently as a father.

"See Gilly? This is what happens when you are naughty. Papa does not like misbehaving children." He smiled sweetly, the image of a caring patriarch, but the angry fire lingering in his eyes told a different story. Soviet rule was not up for discussion. If you were a part of his "family" of stolen countries, you were occupied, and you obeyed.

"You fucking commie bastard!" Gilbert roared, lunging at Russia. The soviet nation sidestepped and a boot shoved him back down with ease. Gilbert's thin frame fell suprisingly hard, and he winced in pain. Russia let go of Elizaveta with one arm to take a swig from a canteen at his side. Gilbert paused when Elizaveta shifted dangerously in his arms at the sudden movement. Russia's violet eyes widened. He lowered the bottle and slowly wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Ahh," he half-sang, "what if I-" He let go completely, and Elizaveta fell to the ground, her head cracking against the floor. "-do this?" Gilbert exhaled sharply, pushed himself off the floor to his knees, and started to get up. Russia stopped him with a sharp kick to the ribs. He cried out and curled in on himself, still keeping his eyes on Elizaveta.

"That's adorable, comrade. You care about her!" Russia's smile was like the desert sun, bright and deadly. "I shall tell her when she wakes. It is good to have friends who care about us, da? That is why we have family. You are lucky to be part of such a large one." His expression was thoughtful as he continued to look at Gilbert. "Bad things happen when we do not appreciate the things we have." He turned on his heel and carried Elizaveta out of the room.

Gilbert pushed himself to his knees again, an arm tenderly holding his throbbing ribs. He reached into the corner, under a regulation gray bedstand, and felt around for Ludwig's package. He pulled gently on a string, sliding it out. The solider's knots gave him a bit of trouble, even though he had tied them himself. His fingers were almost frozen, and the pain radiating from his middle kept breaking his concentration.

Finally, the string fell away, and he lifted the lid. The smell of leather brought a smile to his face. It had been a while since he had seen his brother. He hadn't even worn this nice coat he'd bought him. He'd been too afraid Russia would take it away. It seemed like wherever the Soviets went, they took all the good things. The things that meant the world to people. Their food was rationed, and one can hardly celebrate or have a family dinner with canned meat, slimy vegetables and two tablespoons of sugar. Cloth was taxed. All the bright colors that used to hold tradition and meaning faded into rags from overuse. Wherever Russia went, he left behind a backwash of gray despair.

Gilbert felt the brilliant yellow wool, the fabric soft and warm between his chapped fingers. This was home. This was Ludwig. This was the West, a magical place where you could afford leather. The place hopeful young men disappeared too. They risked everything to breach the Wall, to get a better life. Gilbert was left behind with their mothers, sisters, and daughters. After all, he was their guardian. He was east Germany. He had to be there for them.

He slipped the jacket on. It seemed even larger than when he had first tried it on. Gilbert wrapped it around himself, snuggling into it.

If he closed his eyes, he could see the living room of their house. The exposed wooden beams stretching across the ceiling, the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. Gilbert could see Ludwig making wurst in the kitchen through the open double doors. He paused in his cooking to take a swig of the good German beer on the counter next to him.

Blackie, Aster, and Blitz were curled up on the rug. Aster got lazily to his feet, and wandered over to Gilbert on the couch. He put his head in his master's lap and looked up at him with his big black eyes. Ludwig had a very firm rule about no dogs on the furniture. Gilberts glanced into the kitchen, not bothering to move from his comfortable position. His little brother had disappeared from view. He craned his head to see Ludwig with his head in the icebox, oblivious to everything. Gilbert smiled and patted the space beside him. Aster understood and jumped up. He stretched out, front legs and head resting on Gilbert's lap.

Gilbert smiled at the memory, and shivered as a draft blew through the unheated room. He leaned against the wall, petting an absent dog. His breaths deepened and his head lolled to the side. He was safe in dreamland, completely unaware of the country being forcibly put back under Soviet rule in the next room.


	5. I'm Sorry

Okay, I realise you are all going to hate me for this, but it's something I have to do. I'm quitting writing until I get my grades back up. My mother is very angry with me, and I'm not too happy with myself, either. Fanfiction is just becoming too distracting. Once my grades are where I want them to be and I have better time-management skills, I will continue. I'm really sorry, but this has to be done. I love you all, and thank you for being here for me.

-Zoe


End file.
